


A Lesson on Testing One’s Will and Self-Restraint

by moonymooncalf



Category: Original Work
Genre: ... sort of, Forced Masturbation, Humiliation, Masturbation, Nudity, Orgasm Denial, Other, Servants, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25649908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonymooncalf/pseuds/moonymooncalf
Summary: After being caught doing something naughty by the lady of the house, Agatha has to do something naughty to learn her lesson. Humiliating? Highly. A punishment? Completely. Effective? Eh... depends on what you’re asking.
Kudos: 40





	A Lesson on Testing One’s Will and Self-Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta’d; comments highly appreciated. Regarding era, think Victorian.

Agatha’s index and middle fingers were busy sliding up and down against her crotch while she laid supine on a low and thinly cushioned table, with her legs holding her hips aloft in display. She was in Mrs. Crawford’s living room, and Mrs. Crawford and her guest and former student, Miss Emily, have been sitting on the far sofa chatting about the weather. The weather was fair, and Agatha had been toying with herself for nearly an hour.

Agatha was staring up at the ceiling, naked as the day she was born, was understandably embarrassed at the situation and so, so sorry for stealing extra bread from the kitchens the other day (she was sorrier for getting caught). What’s worse, she knew she was close to getting to the white hot spot.

In her mind’s eye, she could easily imagine her eyes fluttering, her hips rhythmically bucking, her lips parting to sound obscene mewls, and a strange heat coming from her feet wafting upwards like some damsel in a pocketbook. On other days, she would love to get to the white hot spot and rut into her hand happily; but Mrs. Crawford told her that if she saw or heard any obscenity during Miss Emily’s visits, she was to be sent to the coal bin for two days with only water to drink.

Fearing the build up of the white hot spot for the first time in her life, young Agatha slowed her work and slid her fingers higher up her crotch to miss the construction completely.

A harsh, shrill voice hissed her name, adding, “I don’t hear that abominable squelching, young miss!”

Agatha obliged this accusation by pulling harshly up and down her groin unpleasantly to ensure the embarrassing wet sound be heard across the room.

As she felt her body cooling down, she heard the mistress of house surmising her situation to the patient Miss Emily. With polite hospitality, Mrs. Crawford indulged her guest’s curiosity and they appeared by the coffee table. Agatha did not dare make eye contact and looked at the ceiling as they talked about her.

While they looked on at her as she rubbed inches above her clit, her cheeks bloomed hot in shame and embarrassment. She was nude and sweaty and playing with herself in front of a stranger and an old lady—albeit an old lady who ordered her to do it—and she felt tired. Agatha sighed.

Immediately, Mrs. Crawford’s pretty fan smacked her in her sensitive crotch, and the servant yelped aloud. Again, another stinging hit landed on her too-sensitive pussy, and Agatha would be lying if she didn’t find something about it pleasurable. She held her tongue though, and tried not to tremble.

She felt like crying when Mrs. Crawford scolded, “Minx! This was to humble you, young miss, and not to _gratify._ ” To Miss Emily she muttered, “The youth these days are so ready to throw themselves at the nearest object to pleasure themselves. Truly obscene, utterly, these hedonists.”

Miss Emily smiled. “It seems like this little hedonist doesn’t know how to rut for her own pleasure, ma’am. Look. She’s not playing with herself properly.”

Mrs. Crawford awarded this observation with a third slap of the fan, and she ordered Agatha to do it properly. Agatha squeaked a quick, “Yes, ma’am!” and inched her excited fingers downward. In a minute, her hips twitched, and Mrs. Crawford scowled at her.

“She still isn’t, ma’am,” Miss Emily noted dutifully. “She’s not using her fingers to the best she could.”

“That is because, dear, I strictly told her not to stick them in herself. This is an exercise of discipline, self-control, and humility. She stole a loaf of bread to sate her impulses. Now she must not allow herself to fall into temptation again and chase her release.”

“I see, ma’am!”

At this point, Agatha was read in the face and biting her lip to keep from shallowly panting or delicately grunting. She had stolen glances of Miss Emily’s face, and suddenly this situation was less humiliating than it was arousing. Being watched by blonde-haired Miss Emily, with her lovely prim clothes and silly hat, her eager eyes was suddenly something that fueled her pleasure, and she had to fight back her need to jerk her hips forward and hump her own hand.

Agatha wondered if Miss Emily and Mrs. Crawford were looking at her small (and cute!) breasts or her lovely hips. _Oh god,_ Agatha thought, trying not to whimper. What was more humiliating: being forced to masturbate in front of two prim women, or liking it? She was far from caring at this point. She imagined them watching her, smiling as she moaned and trembled. There was a tingle at her toes, at her nipples, at her crotch. Any second now, she’d feel the need to squeeze her fingers hard against her clit.

“Look at her, she’s getting there,” Miss Emily said. “She’s probably wet already. If I were to guess, she had her first man only at thirteen, and was riding on their crotches before you saved her, Mrs. Crawford. Even then, I suppose she stuffs herself with the servant boys downstairs however they please.”

Mrs. Crawford sniffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You know, they always do linger during Agatha’s days off. I’m already disappointed, my dear, and it would explain all the lecherous mewling I hear day-to-day.”

Mrs. Crawford allowed Agatha’s hips to sway side to side as she listened to these lies against her name. Agatha, though, imagined these lies a great deal. She imagined Peter, the handsome kitchen boy, pinning her against the wall in a dark hallway somewhere downstairs and humping against her, his fingers working underneath her blouse... 

“If you let her go, ma’am I suppose she’ll be a woman of the streets doing heaven knows what!” mused Miss Emily aloud, hearing a subtle squelching noise in the air. “She’ll allow any man to grab at her and fill her with his sick pus. Look at her squirm! She enjoys that.” She bent down low so Agatha could see only her and her bluish gray eyes. “Say yes, you dirty girl!”

Agatha at the moment did want it. She was near senseless and was wordlessly salivating over the thought of someone pounding into her just as mindlessly, violently, deeply.

“Answer Miss Emily, Agatha,” Mrs. Crawford snapped, fixing the small glasses on her beakish nose.

“Yes, miss,” Agatha forced out, her body miraculously steady as her pussy screamed at its emptiness, its need to be filled, as the white hot spot peeped out.

Pretty Miss Emily grinned at this confession and leaned back again. “I knew it, you dirty, dirty girl.”

“My dear Emily, let’s go to my office. I’m sure my teaching notes are there, and I have a number of things kept in there that might interest you. Let’s take our leave.” Mrs. Crawford turned to Agatha, red on the low coffee table, and said, “You will keep touching yourself like this while we are gone, and you will not allow yourself to let go of your self-control, do you understand? That, or I will tie you to a horse and have you dragged naked through the streets for everyone to see.”

“Yes, Mrs. Crawford,” Agatha tried not to gasp. “I understand.”

After the two women left her alone, Agatha tried. She really did. But after a few minutes alone, she couldn’t settle for inching her fingers upward again. Flush and ridden with ideas of being thrown on a cushioned bed and being fucked full-force, Agatha became unhinged.

The white hot spot bloomed at her pussy with a flurry, and finally her hips bucked forward in her hand like an animal of its own, and her fingers rubbed against her clit frantically, melded to the spot. Her vision blurred, and she imagined Peter ravaging her mercilessly. She whimpered softly, her face contorted in pleasure and wanting.

Her hips gave in and she forced herself forward, kneeling on the coffee table with her free hand on the lacquer to keep her balance. She rubbed herself hungrily, sweat blooming on the backs of her knees, and a wetness in between her legs.

Her knees shivered powerfully, the sensation in her clit violently pleasurable, and she mewled, “U-uh!”

She fell backwards on the coffee table, her back curved from the intensity of it all. She slipped her two fingers into her pussy, losing control, loving every second of it. She rubbed her white hot spot from inside herself, moaning breathily, imagining Peter groaning with her, his groin flush against her, in her, as his lovely hazel eyes gazed lustily into hers—

When she climaxed, she gasped as the door opened, and Mrs. Crawford screamed in outrage as she fell off table and onto the floor, unrepentant.


End file.
